


stuck.

by goblinlesbian



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern AU, Oblivious stucky, Stucky - Freeform, Teenagers, pre-serum steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinlesbian/pseuds/goblinlesbian
Summary: modern pre-everything stucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. one.

It was a humid, sticky Summer day and Steve had found himself in another fight.

The boy fighting him had a few hundred pounds on him, but he wasn’t a good fighter. He was cocky and clumsy. If Steve was bigger he could have beat him. But Steve wasn’t.

So the bigger boy rammed his fist into Steve’s stomach.

Steve tasted blood as a fist slammed his nose and he heard the familiar, sickening  _ crack _ of bone breaking.

“Get ‘im!” a deep voice grunted. Steve blinked through his tears (reflex ones, obviously) to see a small group of boys had crowded around the fight, holding cell phones to record them.

The bigger boy grabbed Steve’s shirt and held him up.

Steve weakly attempted a punch at him. His arms were too short; too weak. The boy laughed.

Steve knew another punch would knock him out. That’s exactly what the boys filming wanted. A weak little body, unconscious on the floor for them to tease and kick.

“You’re pathetic,” Steve gurgled through his blood. The boy glared at him.

“And you’re a pussy.”

He pulled back his meaty hand, curling it into a fist.

“Oi, asshole!” an angry voice yelled.

The big boy dropped Steve into a pile of trash.

“Get out of here!” the angry voice yelled again. The group of boys hooted with laughter.

Then the angry boy punched the big one. They all ran.

“You alright?” the angry voice was replaced with a softer one. Steve blinked, unsure what was happening.

There was a boy standing there, a halo of summer sun around his head. He had jaw-length brown hair and sizzling blue eyes. Steve wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, but he looked quite ethereal.

“Jesus?” Steve murmured.

The boy laughed, holding out a hand. Steve took it and was pulled up.

“You alright?” the boy asked, putting his hand on Steve’s scrawny shoulder.

Steve looked up at him, face covered in smeared blood and nose more broken-looking than before. His head was dizzy and confused.

“I’m Steve.”

The boy chuckled, smile lopsided.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Cool. Lucky,” Steve smiled woozily. The boy’s cheeky grin turned into a worried look.

“You’ve got a concussion,” he said seriously. Steve nodded.

“Okay.”

Bucky chewed his lip, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Steve smiled at him. This boy was new, and his head hurt.

“I’ve never seen you before, Lucky,” Steve commented. Bucky nodded.

“I’m new in town. Steve, do you know if there’s a hospital near here?” he asked.

“My ma works at one. It’s not far,” Steve said. “Are we going on an adventure?”

Bucky nodded.

“A very fun one. You just need to tell me where the hospital is, alright?” Bucky said.

Steve piped up. His face ached and his head was foggy, but this boy was his saviour.

Bucky put his arm around Steve’s waist and propped him up.

“Let’s go, Steve.”

Bucky couldn’t get any directions out of Steve. Steve kept stopping to vomit, and his words were slurred and tired. Bucky tried to rummage in Steve’s pockets to find his phone and ring someone or get directions, but all Steve had was a MetroCard and lint. Bucky cursed himself for leaving his phone at home.

With the help of signs and some unusually polite Brooklyn strangers, Bucky found the hospital.

When Bucky walked through to the emergency room, Steve started yelling.

“Ma! I’m here!” Steve sang shakily. Bucky helped him to the reception desk.

“Hi, I think my friend here has a concussion. And probably a broken nose. Can we get some help?” Bucky said, Steve growing heavier on his arm. The man behind the desk nodded, typing some things into his computer.

“Name?” he said.

“Lucky! His name’s Lucky!” Steve slurred. Bucky shook his head.

“Steve. His name is Steve,” Bucky said.

“The last name?” the receptionist was completely ignoring Steve. Bucky wanted to shout at him. Help this kid! He needs help!

“Steve, what’s your last name?” Bucky said. Steve was getting even droopier.

"I'm tired," Steve whined. Bucky glanced at the receptionist, who looked awfully bored.

"Last name?" the receptionist asked. Bucky's neck turned red.

"How the hell am I meant to know? Listen, just help him!" he yelled. The receptionist blinked.

"Last name?"

“Rogers,” a nurse said. Bucky turned to her, confused and about to punch someone. 

She was a pretty woman. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. Her skin was weathered, with a crease in her forehead from permanent worry.

“Ma,” Steve whispered.

“Ma?” Bucky looked at him. Steve nodded his head.

“Ma, this is Lucky,” Steve said. The woman glanced between Bucky and Steve

“It’s Bucky. I found Steve in a fight.” Steve’s ma shook her head.

“Of course. Come on, let me get you fixed up.”

Bucky sat in the exam room, watching Steve’s ma, whose name he learnt was Sarah, patch him up. His nose wasn’t broken, surprisingly. Steve told her about the bone-cracking sound, but she said there was no break.

“You all right, Bucky?” Sarah turned to him, Steve holding an ice pack to his face.

Bucky nodded. Sarah sat beside him on the stiff grey futon. She smelt like fresh linen and weak perfume.

“Why did you help him?” she whispered. Steve knew his hearing wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t deaf. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear Bucky’s response.

“He needed help,” Bucky shrugged. Sarah nodded.

“He could use a friend like you,” Sarah smiled tightly. “He’s always getting into fights.”

Bucky nodded. He could picture Steve getting into even more fights, with no one to protect him. No one to care, or help.

“I’ll take care of him.”

Steve and Bucky walked back to his apartment. His ma had ordered him to get home and rest. Bucky wanted to watch him. Take care of him, as he promised.

“You don’t need to babysit me. I won’t tell her,” Steve said softly. Bucky glanced at him.

“Tell who?” he said.

“My ma. I know she asked you to do this,” Steve shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“She didn’t. I wanted to,” Bucky said simply. Steve looked up at him.

“Why?”

The tone of his voice was heart-wrenching. This poor kid. He needed a friend. So did Bucky.

“We both need a friend.”

Bucky sat on Steve’s floor, watching him pull a trunk from underneath his bed.

“Don’t judge me too hard,” Steve said, unlatching the lock. Bucky nodded. Steve lifted the lid of the trunk. Bucky nearly gasped at the contents. Stacks and stacks of paper. It nearly spilled out of the trunk. The paper ranged from napkins to printer paper to things like posters from the subway. The only thing that unified them was the drawings. Drawings in pencil, pen, crayon, and marker. They were nothing like the art Bucky had seen. It was unique and special and _good._

“My ma makes me keep them all. She says one day they’ll be in a museum or something.”

Bucky smiled softly, pulling out a piece of paper from the top.

It was a drawing of the Brooklyn bridge. And it was beautiful.

“Steve,” Bucky said. “This is really good.”

Steve shrugged.

“No, really.”

Steve appreciated him being kind- he knew his art was mediocre, but his new friend was lying to him to make him feel good. He was even sifting through his drawings, faking awe.

“Have you ever thought about doing this seriously? People would pay for this,” Bucky said. Steve rolled his eyes. Bucky looked at him.

“Really,” Bucky grinned. “You could make, like, a blog or an Instagram. Lots of people do it.”

“It’s okay, Bucky. You don’t need to pretend it’s anything special.”

Bucky sighed. Steve couldn’t understand that he really was good at this.

“I don’t pretend.”

Bucky left around sunset. He had exchanged Instagrams with Steve and promised they’d hang out again. When he got to his apartment, he went straight to his bedroom and eagerly grabbed his phone. He opened the search tab and typed in  _ steve_rogers _ .

His display name was simply  **steve** and his bio was empty.

_ Bold move. _

Bucky scrolled through his photos, eager to learn more about him.

He had a few photos of sketches, a photo of fireworks, and a few sunset photos.

Bucky clicked on the fireworks photo.

_ Happy birthday to me. _

Posted on July 4th. His birthday was on July 4th? Bucky snickered.

He then clicked on the latest image, a sketch of a boy. No caption. The next was a sunset over the Brooklyn Bridge, with the caption  _ oh, brooklyn _ . The next was the fireworks photo. The next, a sketch of a bedroom, had no caption either. Then, a photo of the sun setting over Coney Island, the caption was a simple rollercoaster emoji. The last one simply said  _ stuck. _ It was a drawing of a tree, roots growing into the ground and holding a boy as if the roots were puppet strings. It was dated almost a year ago. This kid really was good.

Bucky, as if it was a reflex, pressed his finger to the screen twice. A white heart popped over the photo and his stomach sunk.  _ Shit. _

Steve glanced at his phone. He had a notification; a rare occurrence.  _ buckybarnes liked your photo. _

Steve was confused. He hadn’t posted anything, so nothing would have popped up on his feed. Steve smiled to himself. Bucky had been on his page.

He decided to return the favour.

**bucky**

_ My friends call me bucky.  _ 🦝

Steve smiled. His feed was composed of black and white selfies and aesthetically pleasing shots of New York. There was even one of the MET.

The latest post was a black and white selfie with the caption  _ lover boy. _

God, how cliche could this kid be? Still, Steve double-tapped it.

He wanted to send him a message, but his heart raced as his fingers hovered over the keyboard.


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summer, steve's birthday, sarah taking bucky and steve to church.

Steve’s phone screen lit up as it lay on his bed. Bucky couldn’t help but glance at it. Steve’s settings were set so he could only see the app the notification was from.  
“You didn’t tell me you have Tumblr?” Bucky said. Steve stiffened, face turning bright red. Oh god. Not Tumblr. That was where Steve could truly be every part of himself. That was where he could post the drawings he ripped out of the sketchbook for fear his ma would see them.  
“What?” Steve croaked. Bucky glanced at him, seeing the way his body was tight.  
“Tumblr. I’ll follow you,” Bucky said. Steve spun away from his desk and to Bucky.  
“No.” Steve shot. “I mean, I don’t post. Just look at stuff.”  
Bucky nodded. That was exactly what he had told his sister when she saw his notifications.  
“Okay, Stevie,” Bucky smirked. Steve’s ears turned bright red.  
“What did you call me?” he said, standing up. He tried to look intimidating, but he looked more like an angry elf.  
“Stevie,” Bucky grinned. Steve furrowed his brows.  
“I heard your mom,” Bucky teased. Steve shoved his shoulder. Bucky laughed.  
“What, think you can take me?” Steve narrowed his eyes, smiling. Bucky stood up, laughing even harder. Steve barely came up to his chin, but he did look almost menacing. Steve reached out and shoved Bucky again.  
“C’mon, swing. Let me show you.”  
Before either of them knew what was happening, Bucky was teaching Steve how to fight.

Steve and Bucky grew closer over the Summer. Bucky taught him how to fight. Steve (tried) to teach him the basics of drawing. They spent late nights watching movies on Steve’s floor and early mornings watching the sunrise. They both appreciated each other. Steve liked having someone to draw and talk to. Bucky liked having someone to think of and someone to watch movies with.  
They stayed in when it was too hot, wearing tank tops and shorts and sitting in front of a cheap fan while playing video games. They went out when it wasn’t too hot, eating sundaes at cheap diners and practising fighting in Steve’s living room.  
Sarah Rogers liked watching her son have a friend like Bucky. Someone she could take to church, but could still help Steve in a fight.  
Winnifred Barnes didn’t care about Steve. He wasn’t wine in a glass or a fireplace to stare into.

It was July fourth, and Steve and Bucky were in Steve’s living room.  
“Are you sure this is what you wanna do?” Bucky said. Steve nodded, holding his tongue between his teeth as he fiddled with the controller.  
“It’s too hot to do anything else. Besides, I’m fifteen now. That means I can beat you.”  
Bucky laughed. Steve hadn’t been able to beat him for nearly two months now. For a birthday gift, he could let Steve win. Just once. But that would destroy his streak.  
Bucky saw both of their health bars dropping, and knew now was the time to let him win. But his stomach tugged. It’s the kids birthday, let him win.  
Before Bucky could decide, Steve let out a yell.  
“I did it! I did it!” he shouted. Bucky looked at the screen, gaping.  
“No way!” Bucky shouted. Steve had a shocked yet smug look on his face that pulled at Bucky’s stomach.  
“Told you,” Steve smiled, turning to look at him. They stared at each other for a beat.  
“Stay right there,” Steve whispered. Bucky watched him run from the living room and to his bedroom. He came back with a pencil and a piece of paper.  
“May I?” Steve smiled. Bucky nodded.  
It was strange sitting still for so long. Bucky was used to drumming his fingers, twisting his hair, bouncing his knee. But now, he just felt kind of like an animal in a zoo.  
The sound of Steve’s pencil scratching against paper sent chills up his spine and through his head. It was to quiet he could hear Steve’s breathing, the cars going up and down the street, even his own heartbeat.  
Steve chewed his lip as he drew, glancing between his paper and Bucky every second.  
“Your cheekbones are good to draw,” Steve commented. Bucky looked at him, careful not to move his face.  
“Y’know- they’re sharp and stuff,” Steve’s voice went up an octave. Bucky stifled a laugh.

That night, Steve and Bucky sat on the fire escape and watched the fireworks.  
“My ma used to tell me these were all for me,” Steve said over the popping and hissing.  
“They are.”

Steve couldn’t make Bucky sleep on the floor- he was a good, kind host.  
But Bucky couldn’t make Steve sleep on the floor- he was a good guest.  
So they slept in the same bed.  
Steve could just make out Bucky’s face in the dark. It was a few inches from his, and the dark cast shadows on it in the most perfect way. Bucky’s eyes were half-closed as if he was trying and failing to fall asleep.  
“Happy birthday, Stevie,” Bucky whispered. His voice was croaky and deep and made Steve’s throat hitch a little. He wanted it to be asthma.

When Steve woke up, Bucky was gone. His arm still rested where he had been. Did I fall asleep hugging him? The thought struck strange fear into him.  
Steve sat up slowly, back aching. His ma was trying to save up for a brace to help, but it was no use. Coming up with $10,000 dollars would take years, and by then it would be no use.  
He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he got dressed. He walked out into the kitchen to see Bucky and his ma cooking.  
“See, just add a little pepper,” Sarah said, watching closely. Bucky smiled as he cooked, happy to spend time with anyone he could consider a mother that didn’t smell like wine.  
“What’s going on?” Steve croaked. Bucky turned to him, smiling.  
“Making breakfast,” he said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Eggs and bacon.”  
Steve rubbed his eyes and sat at the kitchen counter.  
“Can you make some coffee, love?” Sarah asked him. Steve nodded. He had perfected coffee at an early age. His mother took advantage of this.  
The kitchen was too small for three people; Steve kept brushing skin with Bucky, and they’d both mumble a sorry. The kettle was right by the stove where Bucky stood. His hair kept brushing Steve’s nose and making him sniffle.  
In the mornings Bucky smelled like cinnamon.

Sarah made Bucky come to church with them. It was Sunday, and she would be damned if God found out she had been hiding this wonderful boy from him. Bucky borrowed one of Steve’s dad’s old shirts and squeezed into Steve’s pants. They barely made it halfway down his calves and were very tight. Steve had to stop himself from walking behind Bucky.  
The pews were so crowded they had the squish against each other. Steve felt guilty being this close to another boy in church. He knew this church didn’t care, but it still felt wrong.  
Everything felt wrong.

Bucky didn’t talk much after church. Sarah dropped him at his house. Bucky wouldn’t let them inside. All Steve could see was a girl a bit younger than them (she must be Bucky’s sister) standing in the door.  
“He’s so nice, isn’t he?” Sarah smiled. Steve nodded. His stomach was aching with guilt. He had sinned. He had to beg for forgiveness. Apologise for the voices in the back of his head and how they thought of his friend in that way and how they liked sitting so close to him.

Did Sarah know how funny it was bringing Bucky Barnes to church?  
The boy was a walking sin.  
“where were you?” Becca said when he walked inside.  
“Church,” Bucky said, trying to be loud enough Winifred would hear him. Hey, mom. Your boy is a good boy. I promise.  
“Sure, Jamie.”  
Bucky chewed his lip. Why would Becca say that? God, was she a mind reader? Could she poke through the deepest crevices of his mind and pull out the most hidden secrets?  
Bucky lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling.  
The church told him God loved him. So why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be like the other boys? Like steve. He wasn’t plagued with these thoughts. These feelings. This craving that just would not leave. The constant aching of knowing that your mother will hate you as soon as she knows you. The feeling that the love your family gives you is all temporary, and you’ll have to give it up someday. That fear of the conversation you have to have one day that will wreck everything.  
why? why me?

Steve and Bucky both lay awake that night. Wishing they were the other person, not plagued with the thoughts they shared.  
Trying to ignore the pull in their stomach from thinking of sitting in the pew together. Trying to imagine a life where they didn’t have to do this. Didn’t have to crave the things that they could never have.  
but they were stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perfectionism is a bitch and i'm never happy with my work but :/  
i liked the bit at the end because damn that's relatable haha


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky and steve accidentally go to a pride parade.

“I have to go,” Bucky said, glancing at the clock. Steve cocked his head to the side, looking at him. In months of friendship, Bucky had never _ wanted _to leave.

“It’s my mom’s birthday.”

“Buck! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gotten her something,” Steve said. Bucky shrugged. He didn’t want Steve to see his mother. She had left when his father had, but her body was still there.

“‘S fine, Steve,” Bucky shrugged, looking at his lap. Steve stared at him.

“We’ll get her some flowers, alright?” he playfully shoved Bucky’s shoulder, grinning.

Bucky’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the flowers.

Steve entering his house was like Steve cutting him open and pulling everything out. Everything was so personal. The family photos, the couch, the kitchen. Everything was Bucky’s home.

Steve rang on the doorbell. Becca poked her head out.

“Jamie!” she grinned, opening the door wide and hugging Bucky. Steve chewed his lip, waiting for her to see him.

“This is Steve,” Bucky gestured to him. Steve smiled.

Becca looked him up and down. A small smile played on her lips as she glanced between the two.

“Hi, Steve. Are these for mom?” she said, looking at the flowers. Steve nodded, passing them to her.

“Cool,” Becca said, stepping aside so Bucky and Steve could walk in.

Bucky felt like a guest in his own house, looking at everything for the first time. The coat rack, the pile of shoes, the two school bags, everything was purely for the Barnes. And now Steve.

“Can I see your room?” Steve asked sheepishly. Bucky smiled softly, for a reason he couldn’t place.

“It’s a little messy,” Bucky said, opening the door.

Steve liked being in here. It was like sitting in Bucky’s chest, examining the way his heart beat.

There was a bed, tucked into the corner. The blankets were grey and unmade. He had a dark oak dresser, with a pair of pants and a shirt laying on it. There was a shoe rack, with some black converse and fancy boots. There was a dark oak desk, covered in messy papers and pencils. The chair sitting at it was covered by a red, woolly jumper.

One thing caught Steve’s eye. He could see his drawings all over the walls. They were taped up above Bucky’s desk, examining everything. There was the skyline, drawings of people, drawings of the park, drawings of everything.

“You kept those?” Steve said softly, walking to them. Bucky turned pink.

“Yeah, of course.”

Steve had never been so flattered. Bucky thought his art was that good. He looked at it every day. If he was ever stressed at his desk, would he look up at Steve’s self-portrait and relax? Would he look at the park drawing and remember the time they spent together? Did he look at the drawings while- Steve pushed the thought out of his mind. _ Okay, gross. That’s your best friend. _

He could hear Bucky sit on his bed.

“Your room is nice,” Steve said, looking out of the window. There was a mediocre view of townhouses just like theirs. Steve would’ve drawn it if it was his view.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, leaning back and laying down.

Steve sat beside him.

Bucky prayed his mother wouldn’t walk in.

“These sheets are clean, right?” Steve smirked. Bucky shoved him.

“Yes, you asshole.”

Steve lay back, chuckling.

They were so close. Steve could just turn his head and kiss him. He wouldn’t, and he shouldn’t, but he _ could. _ He could feel the hair on Bucky’s arm tickling his skin. He could feel Bucky’s mattress, soft yet firm.

“Your bed is so big. Why don’t we ever sleepover here?” Steve said.

Bucky wanted to laugh and cry. If his mother ever saw Steve and Bucky share a bed, saw the way Steve’s arm always ended up over Bucky’s back no matter how they slept, how Bucky watched Steve’s eyelids close and listened to his breathing, calm and soft, she would… Bucky couldn’t even picture what would happen. All he knew was he wouldn’t have anywhere to live.

“I don’t think my mom would like that,” he said simply. He didn’t have to say details for Steve to know just what he meant.

“That’s okay. My ma likes you,” Steve said.

Bucky could have melted. He knew Sarah was kind, but to know that she actually liked him was so _ nice. _If he ever needed a ma, she would be right there. If his mom every found out, Sarah could be right there in a second.

“Are you crying?” Steve whispered. Bucky shook his head, wiping his eyes.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky sniffed. Steve propped himself up on an elbow and wiped Bucky’s eye.

Bucky could have burst on fire, the way his skin felt when Steve touched it. The way Steve’s baby blue eyes bore into his soul. The way Steve’s knuckle rested against his cheekbone. The way Steve almost glanced at his lips, then stopped himself.

There were two weeks left until school went back. Steve and Bucky tried to make the most of it, spending their days roaming the streets of Brooklyn until the sun went down and they’d grab dinner at the cheap diner near Steve’s flat, then run home before curfew, then play video games until Sarah told them to get to bed, then fall asleep inches from each other, then ignore the way they woke up much closer than they’d fallen asleep, then repeat.

Steve and Bucky were going to go to their favourite place, the arcade until they were stopped.

There was a huge group of people surrounding a parade. Rainbow flags flew in the air and everyone was so _ happy. _

“I don’t think we can get to the arcade,” Bucky said, glancing at Steve. He pouted. Suddenly, his face brightened.

“Wanna join the crowd?” Steve smiled.

“Steve, it’s a gay parade,” Bucky said. He didn’t know quite were Steve stood on that issue, but joining a fucking parade was a bit far for an ally to go.

“So? Let’s have fun.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and they made their way through the sea of people, Bucky yelling apologies as they went.

They went right up to the barricade, watching floats covered in rainbows go past. Everyone was so happy here. Bucky would have liked to stay here forever, basking in the people that were so proud of themselves. He was so used to feeling shame that this blissful pride was so welcome.

In the excitement of the parade, Steve and Bucky found themselves getting tossed around and covered in glitter and rainbow face paint. Steve even wore one of the rainbow flags like a cape.

Steve didn’t want to think about how much he loved it here. He could just press those feelings down and enjoy himself with the people that weren’t like him but _ what if they were? _

Steve and Bucky shared a bag of cotton candy, the initial excitement of the parade wearing down into a blissful enjoyment. They hadn’t spoken about how funny it was that the two of them, ‘straight’ as can be, were in the middle of a gay pride parade, having the time of their life. They just ate their cotton candy and watched the people walking past.

There were two girls walking past, holding hands. Steve couldn’t quite make out who they were, his bad vision mixing with the smog from the parade floats.

They turned to each other and shared a kiss. Steve looked to Bucky, feeling awkward watching this private moment.

Bucky’s mouth was wide while he watched the two girls pull away from the kiss. They shared a content look, smiling softly. Bucky made a sound between a cough and a gasp. Steve raised his eyebrows at him, wondering what his problem was.

Bucky turned around and ran. Steve watched him disappear into an alley, unable to inhale. 

“Bucky! Wait!” Steve yelled, running after him. He didn’t see the girls kissing exchange horrified looks.

Steve found Bucky in the alley, leaning against a wall and desperately trying to breathe.

“Bucky?” Steve said quietly. He almost reached out to touch his shoulder. _ Almost. _

“That was my sister,” Bucky whispered. Bucky stared at him, eyes red and angry.

“Becca?” _ Oh my god, Bucky hates gay people. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

Steve didn’t know what to say. God, he makes one friend that he actually _ likes _and he turns out to hate gays. Suddenly, Steve was angry. God, grow up! It’s the fucking 21st century. It was okay if his Catholic ma wasn’t too fond of them (she was, she had made sure Steve knew that), but Bucky? Really? He listened to Queen and Elton John and stayed at the fucking pride parade. Half of his clothes looked like he had stolen them from the other guys at the parade, and he didn’t fucking deserve them.

“I didn’t know you had a problem with gay people,” Steve said quietly. Bucky gaped at him. God, this kid was dumb.

“Steve, I don’t hate gay people,” Bucky’s face turned from angry and confused to soft.

Steve’s heart slowed down. What? The rage turned to absolute confusion.

“Then why are you mad?” Steve said.

“Because she never told me. She couldn’t trust me. And my mom, she… wants grandkids,” Bucky stared at his feet. God, his mother. Becca didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of this. Steve just stared at him with his dumb, confused look.

“So why don’t you just have kids?” Steve said. Bucky shook his head, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars.

“Steve, I’m…” Bucky chewed his lip. God, why was it so hard to say? Why couldn’t he form the words, especially to his best friend who had pretty much confirmed he was okay with it?

“You’re what?” Steve said. Oh god, this kid’s skull was thicker than his arms. Bucky looked at him. Steve knew what the look meant. It was the look his ma gave him when he asked why she had to work on his birthday. It was _ don’t make me say it _.

“My sister and I have… a lot in common,” Bucky sighed.

Steve felt like he had clicked in the last puzzle piece.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, Bucky, that’s great!” Steve smiled. Bucky grinned and pulled him into a hug.

Steve wanted to be happy for him. He really did. But all he felt was pure jealousy. Jealousy that his friend had everything worked out. That he knew himself. That he knew himself better than Steve could ever admit he knew himself.

Bucky regretted telling him.

He was going to miss them sharing a bed, them waking up in the morning and laughing as the pulled away from each other, their tiny moments that Bucky could be imagining.

When Sarah told them to stop playing games and get to bed, Bucky’s stomach sank.

“I’ll sleep on the couch if you want.” He couldn’t look at Steve.

“What? No. No way,” Steve said, smiling softly. Bucky looked at him.

“Really?” he almost whispered.

“Of course. You’re still Bucky. You’re still my friend, no matter what,” Steve placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder, smiling.

“I’m sorry,” Becca said, staring at her lap. Her stomach was churning and she was so damn sad. Sad because she shouldn’t have to feel this. She should be able to kiss her girlfriend without her brother getting pissed.

“I’m not mad. I’m just… disappointed,” Bucky looked at her. She had tears in her eyes.

“Please don’t tell mom,” she whispered. Bucky blinked. God, she thought he was mad.

“No. No, no. I’m not disappointed because you like girls. I’m disappointed because you didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend,” Bucky smiled sadly. Becca let out a breath. Her muscles smoothed and she couldn’t hear her heartbeat anymore.

“I thought mom raised you too well,” she chuckled weakly. Bucky put his arm around her.

“Who knew a woman like her could have kids like us,” he smiled, leaning on his little sisters head. Becca smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. He didn’t have to say it if he couldn’t. he could just hold her for as long as he wanted

“Her name is Tessa. She’s awesome. You can meet her if you want,” Becca said, muffled by Buckys shirt. “_ If _ I get to meet your boyfriend.”

Bucky made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Of course you don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
